


The Doors of Perception

by outofcertainty



Series: Through Symbolic Means [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (they're okay I promise), Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofcertainty/pseuds/outofcertainty
Summary: Magnus has a way with words but that doesn’t mean he always knows how to use them. Alec definitively doesn’t know how to use them but that doesn’t mean he won’t try.[In which Alec realizes the imperfections of both memory and language.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> The initial plan for these drabbles was to make one for Alec and one for Magnus, both very short. You can see how well that worked out.
> 
> The tentative plan is now a four-part series. So one more to wrap it up.

There’s a _wind chime_ above him.

Alec tilts his head and looks up at it. All smooth, glinting metal, whistling pleasantl, if a little sharply. There’s nothing particularly special about it that he can see. If it wasn’t for how Magnus had been acting around it whenever the wind picked up, Alec wouldn’t have given it a second look.

He’d barely noticed it at all at first. One night he had come to the loft, tired and tense, feeling both stretched too thin and pulled too tight, and Magnus had met him at the door, all soft smiles and careful, warm hands, a thumb soothing his furrowed brow even as he joked about premature wrinkles. Alec had rolled his eyes and muttered something he couldn’t even remember anymore as two fingers curled around his jaw. Magnus’ lips parted slightly in what would probably have been a devastating retort – and then he froze.

It was only for a second. Nothing in the warlock’s expression changed which had worried Alec more than a frown might. Magnus was generally so expressive whenever he did anything – it wasn’t just the extravagant magical gestures or elaborate displays of magic, but the way he gesticulated with his hands, the way he held a glass, how he spun the rings on his fingers around and around whenever he was worried about something, the way his dark eyes could flicker from amusement to fear to anger in a second, the way the lines of his face shifted subtly even when he tried to appear aloof.

Nothing about Magnus was ever _entirely_ _still_. It could slow down, it could be quiet – like in the rare moments where they had the loft to themselves and nothing more pressing to do than enjoy the dawning light crawl across the bedroom walls and the drag of fingertips on warm skin – but never still and frozen. It reminded Alec of magic, or at least what he thought magic might feel like: sometimes thunder and hail, sometimes light and dew, but always present and always moving. So much like Magnus, a thrilling wave of motion.

Alec shakes his head, makes a mental note to read less Wordsworth in his free time, and refocuses. The point is that it had seemed so very uncharacteristic of Magnus to freeze so completely that he had gotten worried. Even when they fought and his boyfriend paused – usually after Alec said something in the heat of the moment that he would later regret – there was still the tensing and pulling of his shoulders, the defiant lifting of his jaw. There was still _movement_. And at least in those moments, it was obvious what had caused Magnus so much distress. That night he hadn’t been able to tell what the source of it had been and despite his boyfriend’s reassuring smiles and the hand curled around his shoulder, he hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

It took him two more nights to figure it out. Every once in a while there was a soft, gentle jingling sound coming from the balcony. Magnus would freeze whenever it happened, without fault, even if he relaxed immediately afterward. Worse yet, Alec would then notice him sneaking glances at him – especially when he thought Alec was already asleep – that seemed so devastated and heartbroken that he hadn’t known what to do.

During a small, ten-minute break at the Institute, Alec had sat down with a pen and the notebook he had taken- _borrowed_ from Magnus’ desk and jolted down more words. **Worry** and **Sad** and **Secret?** and after looking at the last two for a few seconds, he had crossed them out and placed a carefully written **Talk** above them. His thoughts about words and actions still fresh in his mind, Alec placed the notebook and pen back inside his jacket, where they usually stayed these days, and made his resolution.

It hadn’t proven that easy. Between the Downworlders’ grief and morning in the wake of the incident with the Soul Sword, their rising anger with the Clave, trying to help his sister recover from the yin fen addiction and his parabatai from Valentine’s manipulation, he hadn’t had a chance to have an actual conversation with Magnus besides exhausted, half-asleep mumblings right before they fell asleep. It had gotten to the point where Alec had caved in and actually _asked_ Izzy and Lydia for help in keeping their friends and the Institute together for an hour or two. Everything they were dealing with was incredibly important – but so was Magnus.

The sound of a portal opening behind him snaps Alec out of his thoughts and he turns around, already grinning at the first flash of blue in a sea of perfectly styled black.

“Magnus.”

A small pause ensues as Magnus turns sideways to look at him, one hand raised in a snapping motion as the portal closes behind him.

“ _Alexander_.”

He had always liked the way his name sounded when Magnus said it, the way it smoothly rolls off his tongue like a sonnet – from anyone else, it sounds like an order or a rebuke, cold and inflexible – but he likes it even more when it’s followed by his boyfriend staring at him like that, warm crinkles around his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifting just so in a smile meant only for him.

The thought makes his heart skip a beat as he takes long strides forward, Magnus meeting him halfway, one ring-adorned hand immediately curling around Alec’s waist on instinct. It's one of those little touches that became automatic over time, that they didn’t notice anymore unless they were missing. The intimacy of habit.

“Hey,” his fingers skim the long necklaces dangling down between them, then carefully curl around one of the chains and pull Magnus into a kiss.

There’s an almost-stillness at first, like always, as if kissing him was _still_ a surprise even after all these months. It lasts barely a second before Alec feels the grip on his waist tighten, the lips pressed against him own curling into a smile, tethering him in place by their warmth and softness alone, leaving his heart hammering in his chest until they pull apart again – slightly, barely, just enough so that they can look at each other.

“If you had told me I had _this_ waiting for me at home, I would have returned a lot sooner.”

“Hm,” he keeps his grip on the necklace, lowering his head down to press their foreheads together, and closes his eyes. “Didn’t want to interrupt your meetings.”

“It would certainly have livened them up, but I suppose I understand your reluctance. I don’t particularly enjoy interrupting your duties either. Speaking of which…”

Livened. Reluctance. Particularly. Alec keeps still, eyes closed, smiling a little at how very Magnus those words sounded, at how he couldn’t even think them without invoking his boyfriend’s voice inside his head. There’s something soothing about it, about the emphasis he places on certain words, almost like the rhythm of a poem, so he stays quiet a little longer to take it in, despite already guessing at the coming question.

“As much as I love seeing you and as much as I delight in having you all to myself… I thought you’d be at the Institute at his hour?”

A little reluctantly, his eyes flicker open. They’re standing so close and Magnus’ lips are right there, perfect and inviting, but he forces himself to look at him. Talking. Alec is trying to do better at actually talking through things.

“Yeah. I asked Izzy and Lydia to take over for a while. Needed to talk to you.”

Magnus stares at him quietly for a moment, brow creasing a little, first in worry, then in confusion, then in a certain – not distance, his expression isn’t guarded, but it takes on this calm, patient quality that Alec has come to associate with them having a serious talk. His words would change too: carefully picked, gently uttered, quietly reassuring even in spite of Alec’s anger or maybe _especially_ in the face of it.

Magnus hadn’t deserved any of it. Even when he had been in the wrong about Isabelle and the yin fen. What he deserved – what he _alway_ s deserves – was to be treated with the same heartfelt understanding and genuine compassion he’d always afforded Alec. Yes, all of this is new still; it’s his first relationship and both his hardheadedness and insecurity don't help matters but all those things are _reasons_ for his behavior, not excuses. He knows damn well how it feels to be treated like dirt by people who are supposed to love you.

“What about?”

“You”, his reply is soft, quiet. Private. “You seem off. I wanted to ask about it.”

This time, when Magnus’ gaze flickers up to meet his, the smile drops. There’s something in his eyes that Alec has only seen twice before.  The first time when he had tried to apologize for his snappish behavior after Jace’s disappearance and the second time when he had dragged Izzy away from Raphael. He hadn’t really understood the look then, dark eyes wide and shimmering, but he has a word for it now: _vulnerability_. His fingers release the necklace to lay flat against his shirt instead, taking no notice of the fabric or elaborate design, just the heat he can feel through it.

The man standing right in front of him is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He’s incredibly old and incredibly powerful and incredibly knowledgeable. He’s lived for so long and has probably been hurt so many times and he’s still allowing himself to be _vulnerable_ in front of him. Alec doesn’t know what to do with that thought, never has, but he doesn’t run away from it this time.

“ _Alexander…_ ”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” he’s quick to reassure him, because making demands isn’t what he’s here for. “But I wanted to ask. Because you’re not okay and that… that means _I’m_ not okay. Right?”

Neither of them speak. Magnus stares at him, expression flickering from one emotion to the next so fast he can’t identify any in particular, but all of them so heartbreaking that looking at him is suddenly difficult. Alec does so anyway, firmly and unflinchingly. The grip on his waist tightens for a moment, holds and then relaxes as the warlock exhales. Just before he manages to utter a word the wind picks up – Alec keeps an ear out, hears the jingle and watches him freeze completely for a second. Two. Three. He finally looks away, glancing at the wind chime on the exit to the balcony.

“Yeah. I noticed that.”

Before he’s able to say anything else, a hand is curling around his other hip and Magnus steps closer, dropping his forehead onto Alec’s collar bone, shoulders hunching a little. It’s such a vulnerable position – almost _shy_ – that it throws him for a loop. Alec brings both arms up and wraps them around his shoulders, pulling him closer, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s head and closing his eyes, mindless of the hair tickling his face.

“It’s a memory.”

He waits, then realizes that nothing else seems forthcoming.

“Bad memory?”

“I don’t know. I don’t… remember it.”

That makes him open his eyes and furrow a brow in confusion. Wasn’t a memory only a memory if you remembered it? Alec stays quiet this time, waiting patiently. It’s several moments, probably a whole minute, before Magnus speaks again.

“I am so _old_ , Alexande _r_ ,” his voice sounds so rough and low and _tired_ that he tightens his hold around his shoulders without even thinking about it. No, tired isn’t the right word for it. Exhaustion? But it’s more than physical, more than emotional, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that makes a soul ache. He wishes he knew the word for it. He wished that he could give Magnus at least that. “I don’t remember so many things.”

“I thought…” he stops, tries to think it over. Remembers all the names his boyfriend has mentioned since they’ve known each other and realizes, abruptly, that they were all anecdotes. A single, funny story, rarely told twice to the same people. “You- you’re forgetting- you’ve forgotten people. Important people.”

It comes out heavier than he means it to, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Alec knows why the idea bothers him straight away. He hadn’t wanted to think about his mortality and they haven’t discussed it again yet. This is so much worse than that and he wouldn’t have thought anything could be worse. Loving him and losing him would be heartbreaking, but loving him, losing him and _forgetting_ him – the word _cruelty_ doesn’t seem strong enough to describe it.

Magnus doesn’t reply but tenses under his arms. Alec blinks, vision slightly blurry, breathes in and refocuses.

“Don’t you have… pictures? Paintings? Letters, maybe?”

“Some,” his voice is even quieter, drawn thin as if stretched almost to the breaking point. “Some I have already lost. Even those that still remain I… Alexander, after _centuries_ , a familiar face becomes unrecognizable. A name loses its meaning. Letters become cyphers–,” the grip on his hips turns painful for a moment, nails digging in. “If I do not know what events they’re referring to, if I-“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he urges, raising one hand to cup the back of Magnus’ neck, kissing his head. One, twice, three times; firm lingering kisses until he feels the grip loosening again. He tries to wrap his mind around the words, tries to really understand what he’s being told. He can’t.

“Max.”

The abrupt change in topic makes his brow furrow further but he doesn’t let go or step back, doesn’t allow any distance to come between them.

“Max?”

“Imagine Max,” says Magnus, quiet and soft, as if apologizing. “Imagine outliving not only him but your _memories_ of him. Imagine yourself three centuries from now, suddenly remembering him, struck by the horrifying realization you hadn’t thought of him in a year.”

Alec’s gaze lingers somewhere ahead, not quite focused on anything in particular. He swallows.

“I- can’t. Magnus. He’s my brother. I’d always remember him.”

“Certainly. For the first century. Perhaps even the second or the third. But Alexander, darling… four, five, six hundred years is a very long time. Even for warlocks. Our memories might be remarkable in comparison to yours but warlocks are not the Fair Folk. Our memories are not infallible. Given enough time, they _do_ fade. There are some magical ways to preserve them, but not without relinquishing them.”

Alec closes his eyes, swallows again and tries to picture it. Losing Max… losing Izzy and Jace… he doesn’t know if he could ever recover from that. He couldn’t imagine doing it _alone_ , at least. But he would still remember them, even if it hurt. The thought of losing his memories of them, slowly, without being able to stop it… if enough time passed, would he forget their birthdays? Faces? Names? Just thinking about remembering having a sister, but not her name or her smile or what she was like feels like swallowing glass. It’d drive him to do whatever reckless thing he had to, to preserve those memories and the guilt – by the Angel, _the guilt_. The accusations flash across his mind – _why didn’t you try harder, how could you forget, if you truly loved them you wouldn’t have forgotten them_ – sharp and agonizing and it’s a phantom wound. It’s not his pain. It’s not even _his_ pain.

Magnus shifts a little so he can hide his face in Alec’s shoulder and says nothing. The motion snaps him out of his daze, makes him focus on the present, on the man in his arms. His heart aches, wondering how much suffering and tragedy the warlock’s been through, how much more he’s still willing to endure. _For almost a century, I’ve closed myself off to feeling anything for anyone_ , he’d said, but a single century doesn’t seem like a long time, not when compared to over half a millennium.

Alec breathes him in for a moment, solidifying his resolve.  It isn’t the time to bring up his mortality, he doesn’t feel ready to tackle that or even think about the subject in concrete terms yet, but it doesn’t matter. Because he has to try. Even if life doesn’t end up being kind to them, even if the worst possible scenario happens, even if he ends up dying and whatever he comes up with only helps his boyfriend remember for another century or two – then it’s still worth it. If it helps Magnus, at all, even the smallest bit, then it’s worth it.

“Magnus,” he steps back slightly so he can cradle Magnus’ face in both hands and look straight at him. “Let me help you.”

Slender fingers wrap around his wrists, squeezing a little. There isn’t a single glittery sparkle out of place, but the tear tracks are obvious enough. Alec brushes one away with his thumb, still holding his gaze and there’s something there – disbelief, wonder, confusion, adoration and a thousand other things he can’t narrow down.

“There is nothing you can _do_ , darling,” the words come out slowly, quivering. “There is no rune, potion or spell capable of fixing memory, not like I would need it to. I know. I’ve searched.”

Far and wide, Alec is sure, but he isn’t giving up now. Magnus hasn’t given up on him yet, has never faltered in the face of his issues and faults. He’s ran once, pretending his engagement would solve everything, and he almost ran out again, after their date. Alec isn’t running away from himself, from Magnus, from them, from _this_ , ever again.

“Let me _try_. Please.”

He’s seen the warlock briefly struggle with words on occasion but never quite like this. Magnus opens his mouth slightly, closes it again and slowly nods, apparently speechless. The wind picks up again, the now familiar jingle reaching them quite clearly, making him freeze just like before.

This time, though, Alec leans in and grounds him with gentle, firm hands still cupping his face and soft, warm, open-mouthed kisses until Magnus relaxes again and chases after his lips.

Neither of them notice when the wind chime goes silent.

**Author's Note:**

> This was surprisingly hard to write. I don't know if it's because I'm tired or just because it's an emotional piece.
> 
> I just realized I haven't mentioned where I'm getting the titles from. Mostly literature, I'll make a list at the end of the series. For what it's worth, the Wordsworth reference is from [this poem](http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/william_wordsworth/poems/10953).
> 
> As always, you can shout at me on tumblr [HERE](https://outofcertainty.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
